


Rose tinted splinters

by gooseontheloose



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drugs, M/M, One Shot, Sad, unhappy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:07:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28305027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gooseontheloose/pseuds/gooseontheloose
Summary: Jack had always come first, in some twisted selfish way. And maybe between peppered kisses and the rose tint of it all, Davey didn’t even realise himself becoming less. Less loud, less opinionated, less important. Because Jack came first, that was the way it had always been, the way Davey had always let it be.The issue came when Jack began to realise what Davey allowed. When Jack began to push. And Davey didn’t push back.
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Rose tinted splinters

The door doesn’t open the first time. Davey has to shove into it over and over, angling his shoulder against the flimsy wood. Davey shouldn’t have to do this at all. It isn’t fair. It isn’t right. He promised. He promised between soft kisses and honeyed murmurs. He promised this time would be different. He promised this time would be better. And when Davey looked into those eyes, those dark beautiful eyes, deep and soulful and genuine, Davey could tell that he meant it. He really meant it.

Last time was awful. Last time was the worst night of his life, the worst night of their lives. Last time felt like shattering glass, felt like the air being knocked from his lungs, felt like falling and falling falling (he hasn’t quite landed since). And Sarah told him to leave. Sarah told him that it wasn’t his job, wasn’t his responsibility, that he didn’t sign up for any of this, that not every mess in life was one he could fix. And she had that look on her face, that resigned look, because she knew that Davey couldn’t help himself. She knew he’d never let go. Davey didn’t listen to her. He didn’t listen because as much as it hurt, Jack was hurting more.

And Jack’s feelings had always been more important than his own. 

Jack had always come first, in some twisted selfish way. Jack didn’t even notice it at first, didn’t even notice Davey always let him finish the milk, or that they’d always watch the show Jack chose, or that Davey would often stay up late to scrub the paint out of Jack’s overalls. Jack didn’t even notice that Davey always let him chase his own pleasure, with a wordless smile being all Davey took from the night. And maybe between peppered kisses and the rose tint of it all, Davey didn’t even realise himself becoming less. Less loud, less opinionated, less important. Because Jack came first, that was the way it had always been, the way Davey had always let it be. 

The issue came when Jack began to realise. When Jack began to push. And Davey didn’t push back.

The door finally opens, the lock splintering off the frame. Davey knows he’ll have to fix it, come morning. Morning seems so far away now. 

He can see Jack. 

And for the first time in a while, it’s like he’s really seeing Jack. 

The real Jack, not the Jack he created in his head. The Jack who wanders around the apartment at night, making noises and messes, uncaring of Davey’s job in the morning. The Jack with a spring in his step and a rolled up note on the bathroom counter. The Jack who screams and spits and seethes, at the world, at the sky, at the ground beneath his feet, (at Davey). The Jack who comes home with empty pockets and pupils blown wide. The Jack who passes out on the sofa, and never misses Davey as much as Davey misses him. 

The Jack who has a problem. The Jack who has more than one problem. 

The Jack who was there that night, his brown skin ashen, his bloodshot eyes rolled so far back in his skull that all Davey could see was white and red. The Jack who wasn’t moving. The Jack who wasn’t breathing. The Jack who still had a baggie clutched in his numb fingers, a dusting of powder below his nostrils. The Jack who’d let it go too far. The Davey who’d let it go too far. The Davey who called 911, and had to tell them that his boyfriend had overdosed, in a shaking voice. The Davey who got in the ambulance with a dazed look on his face, so much so that the paramedics asked if he himself was high. The Davey who held Jack’s hand in the hospital bed, played with the ring on his finger, and prayed for Jack to get better, in every sense of the word. The Davey who paid for the rehab, reassured by Jack’s timid smile, and the fact that Jack earned less than him, and Jack needed the money more than him. It was better that the money went to saving Jack’s life, than sat in Davey’s savings, collecting dust. The Jack who beamed so wide when he got out again, looking healthier and livelier than he had in a while. The Davey who hated himself for not having noticed the signs sooner. The Jack who started to try (a little) harder, started to be better. The Davey who let himself be consumed by Jack again. 

The Davey who’s now let it happen for a second time (or a third, or a fourth. He doesn’t know with Jack, not anymore). 

This is the real Jack.

He’s slumped in the tub, legs dangling out over the edge. He doesn’t even turn his head to look at Davey. He never turns his head to look at Davey anymore. 

The real Jack, with a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and a blissed out expression on his face, and a needle still in his arm. 

Davey wants to be sick. He doesn’t know how it’s got this far. Jack told him about the first time, and the time after that, and the time after that, and the time when all the times blurred into one. Davey doesn’t know if he believes that anymore. Doesn’t know if he believes anything Jack’s ever said anymore. Because Jack promised. He promised. And now there’s a needle in his arm, in the bathroom they share. 

It’s not Jack’s fault. It’s never Jack’s fault. This pain, this addiction. It’s a horrible disease. It’s in his DNA, inherited from parents who never should’ve brought him into the world, the way that they were. Davey tries not to think of all the times he and Jack have spoken about adoption since that night. Tries not to think of Jack’s willingness to let the cycle continue. Tries not to think of a child, their child, with big eyes and a gummy smile, finding Jack like this. Tries not to think of the innocence this ruins. Tries not to even contemplate his own innocence.

Jack isn’t to blame. Jack needs help. Davey should’ve helped. Davey should’ve been better, been more, been enough.

But Jack promised. 

And Davey can’t call Sarah. Sarah will tell him to leave, and this time, Davey just might listen. Sarah will come, and shout at Jack until she’s red in the face. And Jack won’t listen, even when he’s down from his high. Davey can’t call anyone. Davey doesn’t really have anyone he’d want to call. Except for Jack. But Jack’s an addict. An addict who shoots up in the bathtub, chasing something that Davey can’t give him.

Davey’s careful when he’s removing the needle, pressing a plaster against Jack’s inner elbow, trying to ignore the other faint marks there as he smooths the edges down. He should’ve noticed. Davey’s careful when he tries to hoist Jack to his feet, tries to pivot him upright, get him to bed. Davey’s careful when he brings a pillow and a blanket to the tub, tucking Jack in safely just there.

Davey is a lot more careful with Jack than Jack ever is with Davey. 

And Davey watches Jack until his eyes go gummy with tiredness. Davey watches Jack’s chest rise and fall, and convinces himself that it’s enough. 

The Jack who’s too selfish to even try and change.

The Davey who couldn’t leave, even if he wanted to.

**Author's Note:**

> Weird sort of monologue 
> 
> (Based on personal experience with people suffering with addiction it sure is not peachy) 
> 
> Hope people enjoy/ appreciate this! 
> 
> Lovely Christmas story xxx


End file.
